"The moisturizer is silent", the spring rain was originally a very small sound, small to the extent of "none". But I now sit on the balcony separated into a small house with a large tin sheet on top. The eaves dripping down the stairs hit the tin and made a sound, so it was not "silent". According to common sense, I sat there, the same kind of dead words desperately, should have needed a very quiet environment, a very quiet and quiet mood, in order to settle down, into the role, to interpret this day's book-like things. This sound of rain knocking on the tin should be extremely annoying, and it must be gone quickly.
However, the opposite is true. I sat there quietly, hearing the sound of raindrops overhead, and at this time there was more sound than silence, and I felt immeasurable joy in my heart, as if I had drunk fairy dew, sucked in Daigo, and had a fluttering sense of immortality. This sound is slow and urgent, sometimes high and low, sometimes loud and heavy, intermittent and intermittent, sometimes like golden sound and jade vibration, sometimes like Huang Zhong Da Lu, sometimes like a large pearl and a small bead falling on a jade plate, sometimes like a red shan bai hu sinking into the sea, sometimes like playing a suqin, sometimes like a break dance, sometimes like a hundred birds arguing, sometimes like a rabbit falling up, I think of it, I can't help myself, my heart is full of flowers, and the wind is full of pen. Dead words seem to come alive, and I seem to be overflowing with youthful vitality again. I rarely have such a spiritual realm in my life, and it is even more difficult for outsiders to be humane.
In China, listening to the rain is originally a matter for elegant people. Although I think I am not yet a complete layman, it is difficult to say whether I can be considered a gentleman. I'm probably an animal that's between elegance and custom. In ancient Chinese poetry, there are quite a few works about listening to rain. By the way: it seems rare in foreign poetry. My friend Zhang Yong recalled his cousin's poem: "Frequent dreams of spring pond tim xiu sentences, every night rain reminisces about the bed." "It's a little bit poetic. Even Sister Lin in "Dream of the Red Chamber" likes Li Yishan's sentence of "leave the lotus to listen to the sound of rain". The most famous word to listen to the rain is of course Song Jiang Jie's "Yu Meiren", the word is not long, I simply copied it:
The teenager listened to the rain song upstairs, and the red candles dimmed. In the prime of life, listening to the rain in the passenger boat, the river is wide and the clouds are low, and the broken geese are called the west wind.
And now listening to the rain monks, the sideburns have been stars also. The joy and sorrow are always merciless, and the first step of the order is dripped until dawn.